Peculiar Like That
by Sand Dun
Summary: Love... it's a peculiar thing.


It's a peculiar thing, love. The flurry of emotions pressed hard with passion, fear, and an entanglement of lavish joy. To be imagined as a sound, it might ring sweet and pure like the proud, entwined song of two mated birds. To be imagined as a sight, it would be a rich river of luscious colors found, perhaps, in the sunrise and sunset. And, perhaps, its smell of a collected bouquet of fresh meadow flowers still crisp with the chill kiss of morning dew.

Rather then being explained with its own definition, it is what we know might best compare.

Love is peculiar like that. Philosophy cannot explain it. Is it irrelevant by nature? Where does it come from? One answer cannot undermine the next, cannot exploit the immense opinions of those who have been touched by the passionate solace of love.

Yet, the pure ecstasy of something so delightful swarms with skepticism of ruin: how can something so wonderful and rich exist? The folds and tremors of sleepless nights bent in over-calculating thought are a pasture of paranoia that breeds selfish weeds.

Love is like a casket for reality and fantasy to coexist, a paradox for inner desires' thoughts and actuality to hold hands. Are not things such as these fragile? Do they not quiver under the counterweight of reality and the ventures of a difficult life? Yes... but it manages to live nonetheless. Love does not curl and whither like a beautiful and fragile rose when winter bristles. If it is strong. If love is strong its roots will grow deep, its focus on girth not height, and it will survive gloriously long.

A breath apart, a moment away, the momentous press and intensive boil of emotions purr away in his stomach like the fluttering of dozens of butterflies. It seizes him, this feeling, gently pulling him away from the safeguarded walls of reality. Soft strokes to his inner fire from handsome eyes gazing into his soul quell any desires to turn away. This escape, this enduring moment of nearly fathomless passion extinguishes all his peppery ferocity and steely arrogance. He is left placid, lost in deep pools of love-coated brandeis blue that gaze down at him.

He surrenders himself so easily, so willingly. The gentle feather light caress of their touching lips lingers fleetingly before the gap between their mouths completely disappears. Ezio's tongue smoothly slips between Altair's lips to playfully stroke over his tongue, encouraging a passionate entanglement. They settle into the game of dominance, tongues sweeping over one another and arms entangling around each other's bodies to gain as much physical contact as possible.

In the rapture of the moment, their souls tenderly touch and mend with one another and their hearts throb at a fast pace, a reflection of the weight of the embrace. When they slowly pull away to taste the night's chilly sweet air again, the golden scent and intimate connection of their souls lingers like a long, pleasant sigh within them.

The softest of smiles twin their scared lips… the sensation of love brimming within them, frothy emotions of tender admiration.

'Love is a peculiar thing,' Ezio reflects, looking down into velvety, bronze eyes. He could not imagine there being anything quite so powerful or wonderful that could otherwise make Altair's phlegmatic personality melt away to expose his adoring sentimentality. He can easily remember how taciturn and professional their relationship had been months before. How time and feelings can change those things…

The curve had already begun to sincerely take shape by the time Ezio realized Altair was truly falling for feelings similar to his own. The infrequent smiles becoming habitual, their time together beginning to root more from the desire to linger within one another's company then from a task's cooperative requirement, and then, at last, the bold step of a sweeping gesture that left them feeling like their worlds revolved around one another.

Yes, love is peculiar. It's a paradox. It's a chance. And it's beautiful. Perfect, even, in the eyes of the beholder.

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**Author's Note:** Feeling very poetic when this was written. Copied n' pasted from AO3 (Archive of our Own) account. Much love for Ezio/Altaïr! 3 Hope all enjoyed! :)

Question for thought: What do _you_ think love is?


End file.
